Dizzy
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "'Don't blame me,' Giriko says. His voice is even more grating than usual." Justin gets drunk and it does not turn out to be as fun as he or Giriko expects.


"I can't believe you puked after four fucking drinks."

"Shut up," Justin groans. His head is aching, his throat is raw from the burn of stomach acid, and he has never felt this nauseated in his entire life, even when he caught the flu when he was at Shibusen and was home sick for a week. "Just shut up, Giriko."

"Don't blame me," the chainsaw says. His voice is even more grating than usual. Justin groans and tips his head in until the cool porcelain of the toilet seat is chilling his forehead, does his best to tune out the other weapon's words. "You're the one who said you could handle it."

"I figured if someone like _you_ could I certainly could manage it," Justin manages with a desperate attempt at his usual snark. It just sounds kind of weak and miserable, though, and from the way Giriko chuckles it's audible to the chainsaw as well.

"This is great," he says with delight clear in his voice. "I never thought I'd see you so damn messed up by something simple as _alcohol_."

"I said _shut up_," Justin wails. "You voice _hurts_, fuck, you have no sympathy at all."

"Nope." There's motion from over Justin's shoulder, the chainsaw getting to his feet and coming to leans against the wall alongside the blond. "That's what you get for being such a little shit all the time, you ran through all my nonexistent sympathy ages ago."

"I hate you," Justin groans, trying to focus on the burn of irritation instead of the churning in his stomach. "I hate you so much, I should have killed you that first time."

"Yeah," Giriko says calmly. "I hate you too, it's okay." There's a touch at Justin's head, fingers ruffling through his hair, and Justin wants to tell Giriko to stop but it feels kind of good, better than any of the rest of him feels right now, so he stays quiet. "You know if I had killed you you wouldn't feel like this right now."

"Shit." Justin sighs. "You're right. I should have let you win."

"_Let_ me win." Giriko laughs sharp and disbelieving. "Like I couldn't have taken you with five more minutes."

Justin tries to muster protest but it doesn't come, his physical discomfort is overriding his mental ire, and then his stomach jolts and there's a wave of heat along his jawline. "Oh fuck I'm gonna be sick again."

"There's nothing left in your stomach," Giriko says, but that doesn't stop Justin's body from doing its best to turn inside out. For a minute there's just hot flushed discomfort and painful reflex washing through him; then the nausea fades off to a lower state than it has been for several minutes, and when Justin closes his eyes the fingers stroking through his hair feel very nearly pleasant in the temporary lull from dizziness.

"You should drink water," Giriko says. His voice is a little softer, a little less grating in Justin's ears.

"Don't want to," Justin moans. "I'll just vomit it back up anyway."

"Still. You'll feel better in the morning if you do."

"Later," Justin promises. "Later, just let me stay here for a minute."

"You're such a stubborn idiot," Giriko sighs, but his fingers are still feathering with unusual tenderness through Justin's hair, and for the moment that's enough to offset the continuing spin of the room around the blond. "Next time I'll take better care of you."

"I don't need to be _taken care of_," Justin hisses, but Giriko just laughs at him.

"Don't worry. It's cute to see you acting like a teenager who can't hold his booze instead of a fucking middle-aged man with a stick up his ass."

"Fuck you," Justin says without any fire, and Giriko chuckles again.

"Yeah, I know."

In the end Justin doesn't ever drink that water; at some point he passes out on the bathroom floor for the ease of puking when his nausea drags him into consciousness. He has no idea what time it is when he wakes up to Giriko picking him up and carrying him into the blessed darkness of the bedroom, just that he is drifting into dizzy sleep almost before the chainsaw has settled him onto the mattress. He thinks there's a touch at his forehead, the press of what might be fingers and might be lips, and he thinks there might be words, "Idiot" said with the tone of endearment. But the alcohol is dragging him under, and when he shuts his eyes unconsciousness comes even before Giriko has pulled him in against the comfort of the chainsaw's body.


End file.
